When I recount the abuse years later to my lukewarm father,
I don't know why I expected anything different then the sting of
"Why didn't you tell me?".

He asks, WHY.
My answer is HOW?

How do you tell the grown man you see every weekend that your brother's father beats you during the week

And your mother lets him

sneak into your sister's room while you cry in the closet.


What my dad doesn't realize is that his words don't heal,
but instead rip open my homemade sutures.

I love him.
He has good(ish) intentions.
But his questions and intentions sit in the air
because I refuse, and the little girl in me refuse,
to consume *******.

No, thank you.

The only thing we are looking for is help
in getting a professional
to come with real sutures and real support.